Just This Once
by Lucy Kay
Summary: Gill and Chase hate each other. Gill and Chase hate each other and don't exactly know why. Gill and Chase hate that they hate each other. Secret Santa gift for therainydaykids! Happy Christmas!


Hey-o, rainy! Surprise! This is your very belated Christmas gift; ho-ho-ho, am I a convincing Santa? Haaa. I need to work on my jolly, pfft. I really loved your requested characters, and I found it hard to pick from them. They're all so fun! But when you said you liked that slow burn, that spark of development, I knew just the ticket I'd be playing. I only hope you don't mind that this is a bit outdated – I decided to make this about Christmas after all. Hope that's cool!

Thanks for being such a fun person to write for, and may you pen many more stories for our community! I hope this brings you a little holiday warmth in this crummy off season, haha. Enjoy! Thanks so much for reading!

* * *

 **Just This Once**

* * *

Chase glared down at the slip of paper like it growled at him. The little letters scrawled in pencil felt like a cringe-worthy punchline to an unfortunate joke. He almost wondered how bad it would look if he asked Molly to come back, so he could draw again. Maybe this was his divine punishment for participating in a group activity for once? _Typical._

Renee let out a damning giggle she quickly stifled, and Luke pumped his fist with confidence. The bar became noisier as the papers receded, and the group spoke in excited voices speculating who got who. Anissa was the last to draw, and she quickly pocketed the name she received with a pokerfaced smile. Everyone had someone now, and the door remained propped open as they began to file out into the cold night offering waves and farewells and good nights. Unable to hide his scowl, Chase rolled his eyes and roughly ran his arms through the sleeves of his coat to follow suit.

Molly stopped short to zip up her jacket and free her hair from her collar. She was bouncing on her heels, already anticipating the party she was planning for the week after next when they'd have their gift exchange. "Hey! Who are you going to be Secret Santa for, Gill?"

"Wouldn't that, er…" his eyes flickered around the room as if to expose the name on the paper he held aloft out of her reach, "…defeat the purpose?"

"Aw, Gill, you're no fun!" Molly pouted and blew a raspberry. Gill frowned, and she gave him a teasing nudge in the stomach with her elbow as he held the door for her.

Yeah. No fun at all. He couldn't agree more. And Chase was stuck with _that_ guy.

"If you're so against it, why'd you join in the first place?" Hayden asked the following night as he was counting the cash in the drawer. Whenever Chase was upset, everyone in a five-mile radius would know about it, and that was usually because one of his talents was keeping a steadily ill temper. But mostly, if he was particularly bothered, he wasn't able to shut up. Therefore, it didn't take much prying before the chef was bitching about his bad luck.

"Because you told me to!" Chase defended himself, aghast. He slammed the drawer with his hip, the cutlery inside clanging violently into disorder.

Hayden wrinkled his nose in disapproval of the noise. His fingers slowed as he almost lost count, getting back into the rhythm of folding one bill over another. "I don't remember saying anything like that…"

"You're always telling me to 'get out more' and 'make some friends,'" Chase scoffed as he wiped down the last part of the counter and tossed the rag over his shoulder.

"Heh, yeah, you got me there," Hayden chuckled. Finished with the bills, he moved onto the coins after jotting down another number on his notepad. "Gill's a good kid."

Chase snorted as he found the broom. He quickly swept the crumbs of the night together by the dustpan. "More like goody-two-shoes. He's boring and stuffy, and I hate people like him. Always looking down their noses at everybody else."

Hayden gave the boy an incredulous look, scribbling the last count and checking the totals with the opening amount. "Have you ever even talked to him?"

"The once!" Chase said like that was proof enough. He glowered at the bristles of the broom, sweeping more aggressively. "And he was a total prick."

"Oh? What'd he say?" Hayden sounded surprised yet slightly bemused. He knew Chase was just dancing around the subject, and he'd get to the truth of the matter eventually. Though he _did_ wish the boy would tone it down a bit; they were sure to wake Kathy at their current decibel, and she was a grizzly when her sleep was interrupted.

His face darkened in a mixture of embarrassment and irritation that he couldn't remember. "I…! I don't know – who cares? You know the type. I just _hate_ the idea of _buying_ something for him. Heaven knows he can afford whatever he wants himself – why do I have to spend my hard-earned cash?"

Hayden grunted as he stooped to help Chase with the dust pan. He emptied the collection into the bin, and Chase hefted up the trash bag and tied it shut. "It won't be difficult. Pick something you'd like to get. Just don't be lazy."

"What do boring, stuffy guys like Gill even like? A neck tie? Pocket protector? Stationary?" Chase sarcastically called to his boss as the elder man went to put the broom away in back. Meanwhile, Chase dragged the heavy bag around the counter. "Oh, I know – how about I get him a packet of tissues, so he can cry about his lack of a personality?"

He returned to the front, resettling his belt around his waist with his tongue in his cheek as he thought it over. He rubbed his nose. "Hrm… You know… maybe this would be a good opportunity to make your peace. Since you boys never got along, this could be your chance to make a… a… clean breast of it. Get to know each other. Who knows? Maybe you'll have something in common. Like… take Kathy and Renee. Not a whole lot with those two, but they both love horseback riding. Ya see what I'm getting at?"

Hayden was feeling pretty proud of his pep talk in the lingering silence that followed it. Chase stared at the floor for a good, long while. Then he gave a definitive nod, kicking the front door open. "I'm goin' with the neck tie."

"Aaahh…!" Hayden growled in frustration, rubbing at the back of his neck. Chase ignored him, teeth already chattering as he struggled to hurry with the garbage and get back inside.

* * *

Basically everyone in Gill's life now knew he was Chase's Secret Santa, and that was because he needed all of the help he could get. When he drew the chef's name, he had to make a double take, almost wondering – _who?_ Then the reality hit him full force, and his stomach squirmed uncomfortably at the idea of it. Oh. _Him._

Chase was that reclusive naysayer who offered little to anyone, but his criticism was always free, and Gill had successfully avoided him at all costs over the years. He wasn't a native, more or less the unpleasant new kid, so Gill had felt like it was his responsibility to ensure his inclusion. But one look his way, and Gill was struck with instant annoyance. He met indifference. Someone so lazily disinterested in the welfare of others, he couldn't just be described as selfish. A bona fide ass.

Once they were out of earshot of the bar that night, Gill had told Molly his doubts and asked her to trade names with him. But she had cooed at him like it was cute – it wasn't _supposed_ to feel so demeaning – and insisted he take it as a challenge. Besides, she was thrilled she picked Owen and wasn't swapping under any manner of threat he could muster.

 _"_ _Chase is a cinch to buy for! You'll figure something out. Have fun with it!"_

Fun? How? Gill couldn't strike the Christmas spirit into the local Scrooge if he hit him over the head with a plastic reindeer. _What do you get for someone like that?_ He pondered as his feet meandered by the shop windows, and his reflection stared placidly back at him. Maybe something cooking related? What did chefs even use? Spatula? Apron? Salt? Pepper? _No, he's got enough salt…_

Gill shook his head with a sigh, his breath clouding under his nose and rising into invisibility. He was beginning to wish he played sick the other night and stayed home, so he could get out of this Secret Santa thing. If he got _anyone_ else's name, this really would be a cinch like Molly said. Hell, he could think up the perfect gift for anyone else in that bowl – he would've even rather had _Luke_ and given him a _paddle ball_. Chase was just one of those impossible types to shop for. It wasn't Gill's fault. He just drew the short straw. Whoever was in his shoes would be having just as hard a time…

Maybe he was blowing it out of proportion. It wasn't like Chase was the devil, per say. Gill just didn't know anything about him. Other than that he was rude and antisocial. Come to think of it, Gill remembered his father once worrying that _he_ was rude and antisocial. But… that was just him misunderstanding Gill's introversion; that was totally different.

 _"_ _Have fun with it!"_

He felt himself defying Molly's positivity in his mind, physically shaking his head to refute it. Some people were just never meant to understand one another. That was reality.

A thought arresting him, Gill pulled up his sleeve in alarm and spotted the hands on his watch twisted tightly together over the three. He put a brisk spring in his step, so he wouldn't be late. He had another week to come up with a gift, so he had plenty of time to agonize over his disdain for this chore until then.

He hurried up the steps past a couple of girls shopping, their heads turning to follow him and see where he was rushing off to. Gill stared hard at the cobblestones below his feet, his mouth a thin, moody line. He'd go with something easy. Maybe… oven mitts. Or something.

* * *

After hours at the local Ocarina Inn, tutor and pupil stood elbow to elbow prepping the veggies that needed to be cut for the restaurant to function the next day. It was almost mindless and definitely second nature to the both of them with their combined experience, so they would usually while away the time chatting and bantering back and forth, trading insults and quips. But Yolanda found her kitchen companion strangely quiet this evening.

"Don't you ever quit?" Yolanda began, the teasing tone not evident to an outsider. Her humor was dry and often came across harsh until her brand of sarcasm was ingrained. "Don't got any friends your age? All you do is work and hang out with an old woman chopping carrots."

"You're not old," he snapped like it was more of an insult to him. Chase's answer was unnaturally stilted as he focused all of his energy into dicing the cucumber. "I'm never going to get any better if I don't practice."

Yolanda put her own knife down to signal he do the same. She folded her arms. "Ya done plenty."

"Fine," Chase tossed his knife in the sink and washed his hands, avoiding eye contact.

"Don't pout over the food – people taste that," she scolded him, half serious, as she shooed him aside to wash her own hands. "What's buggin' ya, kiddo?"

Yolanda swatted at him with the towel, but he caught it and used it to dry his hands. The term of endearment loosened his tongue a bit. It was rare coming from her. "Aagh… I still don't have a stupid gift."

"Oh, you've got _time_ ," she waved off his worries, flicking droplets of water at him. He tossed the hand towel back her way, and she slung it over the oven door handle once she was done with it.

Chase grumbled. "It's tomorrow."

" _Oh_."

He leaned his back against the counter, propping his palms up on either side of him – almost like he would jump up to take a seat on it. Hell with that idea though; the instinct was strong, but he'd face the wrath of little Yolanda if he'd pull such a stunt. "Hayden said to pick something _I'd_ like, but he's already speakin' in tongues. Saying this'll give us a chance to be magical bronies together; I don't know. He's nuts. I'm not listening to him."

Yolanda hummed doubtfully under her breath to disguise the knowing look on her face. She didn't know exactly _what_ the hell Hayden said to him, but he seemed to be on the right track. Chase and Gill could get along like peas in a pod what with their… rather irritable natures… hm… perhaps they shouldn't be brought together after all.

She banished these thoughts from her head with a lackadaisical approach to the matter. Point was – Chase could make this a good learning experience. Quit judging books by their covers. And stop him from having to hang out exclusively with other peoples' grandmas.

"You'll think of something. You just need to get your mind off of it. Here – help me pick something new for the menu tomorrow," she beckoned to a high shelf she couldn't reach without her trusty stool.

Luckily, she didn't have to go searching for it since Chase was already there opening the door above her head. Rows of old, worn cook books lined the shelf. She pointed to the green one, and he handed it down to her. "Something new? Tch. Since when?"

"What, I'm not allowed to mix it up every once in awhile? Now you shut your mouth and tell me which recipe my customers will like," she slammed the book open before him and gestured to it impatiently. "Go on! Hop to it!"

Chase cracked a smile at her foul temper, but it faded as he sifted through the pages. What was she looking for exactly? She opened the book to a bunch of traditional recipes, but now that he was skimming through, they didn't look all too familiar. They were entirely out of Yolanda's style. A good deal of them looked bland, even. _What the hell was this?_

Yolanda was doing all she could to hide her triumphant smile as she watched Chase's brow knit as he studied the old recipe book. She wanted him to feel like he thought of it himself – she wasn't _that_ heartless. She quirked an eyebrow. "Well? Anything look good?"

He traced his finger along the light penmanship. It was so different from Yolanda's messy chicken scratch. Chase almost told her so, but he kept to the pertinent questions. "Who wrote these? Your mom?"

"Not mine," Yolanda shook her head. "Woman couldn't speak a word of English. No, this looks like… aha! Yup! You picked a good one! Let's go with that one; I like it."

She made to take the book back from him, but Chase stubbornly clung to it. "Hey, wait, I didn't – whose recipe is this?!"

Yolanda sniffed like she didn't much care. "Hm. Looks like the mayor's late wife. I got a lot of her stuff around still. Never found its way back. Now you prep the bell peppers right quick, and I'll root around for some eggplant; I'm sure we've got a case of 'em somewhere…"

"You mean…" Chase mumbled dumbly, eyes flitting back to the recipe book. It looked so fragile, especially now that he knew the person who kept it so lovingly was no longer around. He almost forgot about that aspect of Gill. He lost his mom, too. "She cooked?"

"Oh, she loved it! Cooked all of the time. Between you and me, it was a labor of love. Her pastries were garbage…" Yolanda prattled, pulling out a casserole dish and standing on her tip toes for a mixing bowl. She couldn't explain how now, after all of these years, her eyes were still misting over talking about it, but she ignored the sensation as she busily pulled open a drawer and meticulously chose the right spoon. "Spent a lot of hours in the kitchen with her. She loved to cook for her family. For the people she loved. Sentimental type. She loved preparing a great big meal and seeing everyone brought together around it. That's… what she lived for."

No longer able to hide the hitch in her voice, Yolanda quickly cut herself off. Chase wasn't paying much attention. He was staring at the recipe. He squinted at a tiny heart in the corner. He flipped the pages and found the heart only a few more times, in the same place on the page. Thinking it was organized thus far, he went to the front and indeed found an answer. On the inside cover was another heart with an equals sign after it and light scrawl: _family favorites!_

If he thought more about it, maybe he'd be wondering what exactly possessed him to do this. Or he'd be angry that he suddenly gave a shit about Christmas again. Just this once, he'd give it a go. He went back and tapped the ratatouille recipe in building excitement. "This is it. I'm making this."

"I know. I told you to cut the bell peppers five minutes ago," Yolanda muttered, already getting started on slicing the eggplant.

"No! For…! Screw it; I don't have to explain myself to you," Chase decided, getting into gear to help her out. If he practiced now, he was sure he could whip up a fresh one on his own tomorrow for his obligatory gift.

Satisfied but still irked by his attitude, Yolanda dug into the eggplant with renewed ferocity. "Gee, _someone_ 's feeling perky. Glad you got that twist out of your panties, son."

"Hand me a knife, will you?" Chase ignored her sass and brought back an armful of a colored assortment of bell peppers from the fridge, kicking the door closed behind him.

"No manners…" she muttered, elbow to elbow with him once more as they worked steadily on into the evening.

* * *

Gill was already removing his coat as he walked through the door. He stuffed his gloves in the pocket and hung it on an empty peg, tapping his shoes clear of any snow on the mat. "Candace?"

He paused in the quiet for a moment, mentally chastising himself. What was he thinking – like _Candace_ would yell back to him? Yeah, right. He straightened his cuffs and crossed the empty school room, stopping to pick up a pencil from the floor leftover from the last class and placing it on the nearest desk.

"My apologies. I hope I didn't keep you waiting," Gill said as he entered the music room and adjusted his waistcoat.

Candace whirled around as if she hadn't heard him come in, lost in her own little world. Her coat was left on the bench beside her. "Oh! No, s-sorry. I didn't hear you come in…"

"Practicing your scales?" He asked, striding over a bit slower so as to not spook her again. One never knew with Candace. Like coming across a deer in the forest. Except he made biweekly appointments with this one.

"Yes, but… I'm not really… um…" her voice trailed off as it often did as she gloomily stared at the keys. Her fingers looked almost translucent fluttering so lightly over them, using the positioning he taught her.

Gill picked up her coat, and she mumbled apologies as he hung it out of the way on a music stand and took a seat beside her. He instructed her to start with her C major scale and move up from there. Candace obeyed and carefully and painstakingly slow – moved her way up the notes, one finger moving over the other, thumb bringing up the crawl.

These quiet lessons on Sundays and Thursdays were surprisingly pleasant for Gill. When Luna had brought the idea to him, saying her big sister wanted to learn how to play the piano, he was a bit adverse at first to giving lessons. He had been playing the piano all of his life, so it wasn't his qualifications that were bothering him, rather his abilities as a teacher for a student like Candace. Before they began, she rarely looked him in the eye whenever they spoke, and he'd known her just as long as he'd been playing the piano. She seemed too shy. Well, Candace still wasn't too keen on looking anyone in the eye, but Gill learned not to take it too personally. She was a good student. Very attentive, and she took her practices with him and on her own very seriously. Always prompt, always improving. Even though they certainly weren't racing.

Gill's thoughts muted the soft notes of the piano as Candace went down her G major scale. He was a little _too_ relaxed. He shouldn't be zoning out when he was supposed to be watching and listening for errors. But an almost imperceptible sound underneath the echoing scale in the room caught his interest as he differentiated it. It was the sound of another instrument.

Candace dared to glance his way, and her fingers froze. The sound grew more noticeable without the piano over top it. She squinted suspiciously at him, biting her lip. "Um…?"

"Is that…? Is that outside?" Gill was still carefully listening and tilting his head like an owl as if he was wondering if it was coming from within his own head.

"Oh, that must be Chase," Candace said.

Gill sharply turned to her, and the action sent her scooting ever so slightly further from him to the edge of the bench. He looked almost insulted. "What?"

"H-he plays sometimes when he's on break…" she reported, her fingers scrunching the blue braid hanging down over her shoulder and frizzing a good portion of it in her nervousness. She blinked awkwardly off to the side, smiling unsurely to herself. "Um… he's… rather good."

"I didn't know he played…" Gill mumbled, standing and moving towards the window. He approached it with unease, playing secret agent, afraid to be spotted peering out even though he had every right to do so. He craned his neck a bit awkwardly around the side, trying to see where he was down there. Gill soon stood in full view in the large window, looking out over the boulevard, still unable to see anything. He stood on his tip toes and used the pane to lean around, and – aha! He could just barely catch a glimpse of him, and to Gill's astonishment – it turned out to be true.

Chase was by the railing of the harbor. He could see a tuft of his pale rosy hair and the unmistakable end of a pocket flute. Gill sourly noted that he was careless enough in this cold weather not to bother wearing gloves. _Tch._ _Should just save time and get him mittens for Secret Santa. Oven mittens…?_

"I like to listen, too," Candace made Gill nearly jump clear out of his skin – their roles reversed for a change – as she had crept up behind him without him noticing. He held his heart from the shock, but she seemed oblivious to his scare as she looked out the window, too. "He doesn't talk much, but… he's very… sweet."

Sweet? _Chase?_ What Twilight Zone did Gill waltz into?

Gill decided to humor this delusion further. "Why does he keep playing the verse over and over? Doesn't he know how to play the chorus?"

"You know the song?" Candace peered at him in wide-eyed astonishment.

He was taken aback by her reaction, coming off defensive. He sniffed and crossed his arms. "Of course, I know the song – it's an old nursery rhyme. Who _doesn't_ know it?"

"Chase! Chase doesn't know it!" Her enthusiasm was wholly unorthodox for her usual demeanor, and Candace seemed to notice and flushed deep red. Her stutter muddled her words as she tried to elaborate. "I-I mean, h-he said it's the only part of the song he remem-remembers… Luna asked him the same thing once, and… and he said it was a song his grandmother used to sing. B-but he didn't know what it was called or the rest of the… tune."

"Oh…" Gill almost forgot to respond, he was so deep in thought. He never took the surly chef as someone who could be sentimental about his grandmother. Hell, sentimental about _anything._ He always seemed so cold, feelings like those just didn't click as a possibility. They didn't factor in with the picture Gill had. His mouth twisted into a frown at that miscalculation, trying to resettle his image of Chase now that he had this knowledge. It was… jarring.

Candace fiddled with the ends of her sleeves, pulling them down over her fists and worrying her lip. Her uneasy glance bounced between Gill and the window. "You need to… to tell him. I mean… he would really ap-appreciate…"

Gill turned away from the window and went back to the piano. Candace lingered questioningly behind, but she soon dawdled after him to continue their lesson without further interruption or insistence. She still felt deep down though that it was really important to get that song to Chase somehow.

Fortunately, Candace needn't worry. As he listened to her switch to her minor scales, Gill already had an idea of where to find the sheet music. And their gift exchange was coming up fast; he couldn't have asked for better timing. Just this once, maybe he'd even… impress someone.

* * *

Gill was absolutely mortified. He was content with his gift – even a little proud of it – as he left his home and braved the chilly air to make the quick walk down to the bar. But when he made it and found his peers walking in with big packages wrapped in colorful paper and bags loaded with bright tissue in tow, he felt his little scroll tied with ribbon was foolish. And totally embarrassing. How could he give such a stupid gift to Chase in front of everyone? They'd all think he was some kind of stalker, or no one would get it and think he was a loon. Or even worse – _Chase_ wouldn't get it, and he'd never let Gill live down how dumb a gift of sheet music for a children's song was.

So he left his present in the pocket of his coat and did his best to mingle and enjoy the party as an introvert. This included skirting the edges of the crowd, poking habitually at the snack table despite not feeling hungry, and making arbitrary goals to cross the room every now and again to look busy and avoid any kind of entrapping conversation at the same time. Gill only heard a handful of yawn-inducing anecdotes and entertained very light small talk, so he decided it was a fairly successful party as things began to wind down towards gift time.

But to Gill's increasing disquiet, the person he was afraid of most wasn't there. At first, he figured he was late because Chase was the kind of person who didn't care about punctuality or how making people wait was rude. But as the hours wound on, the delightful prospect that he had backed out entirely was all too welcomingly becoming probable. Gill would get out of having to share his idiot gift, and he could pretend this whole thing never happened. Never mind that twist in his gut telling him it bothered him.

He politely applauded as he watched gifts go around and be torn open – Luke and Maya in particular were quite the animals about shredding their wrapping paper, and Anissa was practicing being a grandmother forty years early by saving the paper from her gift for 'future use.' But the clock was making Gill feel sick, and he was beginning to understand why. Maybe he really _had_ hoped Chase would like his gift. No matter how cheesy and strange as it was. He had put some thought and care into it, and he… he really was proud of it. But was Gill really so malicious that he just wanted the satisfaction of one-upping Chase? Prove he was the better man by taking the high road and getting him something so nice? Or… was it more possible… that Gill had actually convinced himself that this teeny scroll was a token of repressed apologies, and Gill felt… legitimately sorry. He had failed to understand this stranger for far too long, and he had made unfair judgments about him from the word go. Decided he didn't like him without having any proof. And what did that do? The consequences stretched out further than he expected. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that the reason Candace – of all people to point it out – had said that Chase didn't talk much was because he barely said anything to anyone at all. He didn't have friends around here. If Gill hadn't written him off so early on, that could have been different. Maybe he wouldn't be so guarded and angry if Gill had just made the effort to befriend him when he first moved to Castanet. It made Gill feel like a shitty person, and this sheet music was somehow supposed to offer closure to that.

Chase never showed up. So that closure just wasn't meant to be. Gill was just going to have to come to terms with the fact that he _was_ a shit person, and he deserved to feel that way.

"Gill! I'm so sorry!" Molly ran up to him, arms piled high with empty solo cups she was collecting for the garbage.

He had stayed behind to help tidy up, mostly because he didn't trust anyone else to do so all tipsy on spiked eggnog. And it wasn't fair that Molly got stuck planning the party herself _and_ having to work alone through the clean up. As he offered the open trash bag to her, he seemed confused with her apology. Or just confused in general. His thoughts were making him muddled. "Sorry? What for? The party was a success."

"Chase! He must've been your Secret Santa! He never showed, so you didn't get a present…" Molly had really gotten herself worked up, her eyes filled with guilty tears as she packed the cups down into the bag and took it from him to tie off and leave by the door. She hurried over to the radio and turned off the noisy Christmas carols streaming from it. "I feel so awful…"

That… never occurred to him. Gill was baffled – not only had he not taken into account that a missing person meant a missing gift, but he also didn't notice that he hadn't received a gift that night himself. And now he was _positive_ this whole bloody thing was rigged if they got _each other. What were the odds?!_

Initially, he thought Molly was feeling apologetic for Chase, on his behalf. Maybe even worried as to why he never showed up to the Christmas party. But it was made apparent that it wasn't the case. No, she was worried about her friend Gill feeling left out. No one really thought about Chase at all. His stomach sunk lower.

Gill tried to reassure her it was really no big deal. Gill certainly wasn't crying over it. Meant less knick-knacks cluttering up his house in all probability. He didn't require any kind of gift. But Molly offered the bee hive shaped cookie jar she got from Calvin, totally unaware of Gill's distaste for the cutesy, tacky thing. "Please, take my gift! It was my fault; I didn't organize this better. I should have had backup gifts ready in case something like this happened. I really suck."

"Really… Molly, it's okay. You, uh…" he held his hands up to it, almost ready to bat it away from himself if it got closer. "You keep that."

Molly hugged it and continued to apologize until they bid Kathy and Hayden farewell, the door was locked, and they said good night and Happy Christmas. Gill watched Molly make her way out of town, and he jammed his hands in his pockets. In the one, he found his earmuffs that he put on over his head. In the other pocket, he felt the scroll of paper safely tucked away. White crests of the waves appeared in the lamplight on the dark ocean waters, and they mesmerized him as he drowned in thought. He couldn't deny he was still disappointed. But maybe that was his own fault. He'd get around to telling Chase about that song eventually. No skin off his nose.

"Took ya long enough."

Gill spun around in shock at the jumpscare, glaring venomously. He surprised himself with how fast his mood could totally turn on a dime with the sound of a snarky, self-important voice.

Chase was standing above him on the street in front of the inn, hand in his pocket, a beanie over his unruly hair, and his arm tucked around a box. He looked a little perplexed on the receiving end of such a scathing look, but his eyebrow wrinkled in mockery. "Ya gonna just enjoy the view?"

Affronted that he had only just come to terms with being the bad guy and then finding himself immediately confronted by the person he blamed for feeling this way to begin with, Gill's usually cool blood boiled. He gestured to the building Chase was standing above. "You suddenly show up and cop an attitude with _me?!_ Why weren't you at the party?!"

"Do I _look_ like a party person?" His face deadpanned, his own temperament going south. He kicked the ground with the toe of his shoe. "Come up here. I ain't throwing this."

 _Now he's demanding things? This guy is the worst,_ Gill sneered, fists clenched. He was right all along. Chase was just an inconsiderate ass. All of Gill's remorse melted like frost in the spring. Screw this guy.

Yet Gill found himself obeying, stomping around the side of the bar and taking the stairs at a trot. Halfway up the landing, he felt the ice slicken underneath the traction of his shoe, and he slid and nearly went down, balancing his arms out to steady himself. He heard a ' _pfft!_ ' from Chase he begrudgingly ignored.

The stars were coming out from between the thin tracks of cloud overhead, but there was no moon to light up the cozy, coastal village. Only the yellow glow from the inn's porchlight lit the rest of the way as Gill stopped at a safe distance away from Chase. He felt the music scroll burning a hole in his pocket.

"Well. Here," Chase jutted the box out to him unceremoniously. "I was your Santa."

"Aren't you supposed to say Merry Christmas?" Gill asked, taking a step forward to reach it. He took the surprisingly heavy Tupperware as Chase scoffed. It wasn't wrapped, but the plastic was a light blue he couldn't see through. He found the lid's tab on the corner and struggled with his glove to pry it back. The smell of tomato struck him first. What was inside looked like a mess. "Uh…"

"It was Yolanda," Chase damned his own thoughtfulness, providing a scapegoat to thank in his stead. It really _was_ her idea. Her guiding hand anyways. Chase itched at his red nose, looking down at the waves Gill was watching earlier.

"This… this is _Yolanda?"_ Gill asked, mortified as he held the container further away from his nose. He knew Chase was surly, but he didn't exactly expect him to go over the edge and cook somebody and give him the gift of cannibalism for Christmas.

"You know what I meant!" Chase accused, finding himself angry and defensive for his present. But he tried to fight the smile – he never thought Gill could be funny. "It was her _idea_ , you dickweed. She, uh… had a recipe book. I… made this from that."

The change in his tone sobered Gill up fast. He pulled the lid completely off, and the smell of what was clearly some sort of ratatouille engulfed his senses. But it was more than the potent odor of the vegetables. It was something… different. Almost… nostalgic.

He heard Chase's voice, but he just kept staring at the dish in his hands. "I guess it was your mom's. I mean – it _was_ your mom's. Her recipe. She marked ratatouille as a favorite or… whatever. If you want the book, you can get it from Yolanda."

The chill wasn't what was sending shivers up Gill's skin as he stood rooted to the spot, his eyes fogging over. His _mom._ He… he couldn't remember the last time he let himself remember her. Those kinds of memories were always too painful, so he often pushed them out of his mind. But he had let himself forget all of the good. The things he missed. Like the ratatouille she'd cook for his birthday.

Gill looked up, and his vision was all watery. He dumbly blinked at Chase, unable to believe that the person in front of him had given him the best gift… ever. For a moment, Chase gave Gill his mom back to him. _Chase._ It was so unexpected, so baffling.

Chase finally chanced to see if Gill was glaring at him again since he had gotten so quiet, but Gill was balancing the ratatouille in one hand and quickly searching the pockets of his long overcoat. He pulled out a little roll of paper with a silver ribbon tied around it. He held it out to him. "Here. This is yours. Happy Christmas."

The unease completely killed in him, Chase gave Gill an exasperated grimace as if to say 'really? We had each other?' The odds were definitely against them, as was the rest of the universe apparently - as every minute spent in one another's company already felt like a test in self-control since they irritated the hell out of each other. Chase popped his lips, finally swiping it from Gill like he stole it. "You're kidding."

For once, Gill sympathized. "Believe me, I know."

He had somehow forgotten that he was supposed to _get_ something from the gift exchange. Chase curiously spun the pages around and peered through it like a telescope, playing with it. Then he unraveled the scroll and tossed the ribbon over his shoulder. Gill scowled and went to retrieve it, not tolerating his careless littering.

"The world isn't your trash can, you ignoramus," Gill snapped, glad he got to retaliate Chase's offhand insult from before. It didn't matter if he sullied his gift with his vengeful snark. He held out the ribbon, but when he went ignored, he irritably stuffed the ribbon into his own pocket.

"What the hell is it?" Chase squinted hard at the markings on the page, trying it turn it towards the light to get a better look. Some kind of… baby song? _The hell!?_

"I heard from Candace that you play the flute. She said there was a song your grandmother used to sing that you couldn't remember… or something along those lines. I just so happened to have overheard the melody in passing, and I recognized it. So I got the flute accompaniment," Gill tried to clumsily explain, feeling down that Chase hadn't immediately recognized it. Maybe he wouldn't get it at all, and it was a waste of time. But he wanted so badly to get back on equal footing after being _moved to tears_ (he still couldn't believe it) by Chase's Christmas present. He pointed lamely at his paper. "That's it."

"That's what this is…?" Chase asked, his voice a little mystified and yet deadly serious. He turned further away from Gill towards the light, reading the notes over in his head with unfocused urgency. He couldn't believe it.

Gill awkwardly fiddled with the Tupperware, snapping the lid back on to preserve the food and turning it around in his hands. He picked at an uneven bump in the plastic. "It's a fairly old nursery song. The sheet music wasn't hard to copy, so it's nothing special. It required very little research. I only thought—"

Chase's memory was going haywire. He was a child again, creeping around the corner of the hall and peeking into the kitchen where his grandmother was at the counter preparing dinner. She was humming quietly to herself, a sad, lilting tune. Chase approached her and tugged on her apron. Her song ended, and she smiled down at him, ruffling his hair and sneaking him a taste from the stove.

Maybe it was a bad idea. A terrible, awful, horribly bad idea… Because Chase was crying. Hard. Tears slipped out one after another until he couldn't hold back the gasp for breath, the hot tracks spilling down his cheeks and pattering around his collar. His nose ran as he lost all control of his sniffles and sobs and tried to hide his face in his hands, crunching the pages of sheet music.

"Er… I… I tea-stained… those…" Gill's face paled as he protectively reached out to save his gift from being snotted on, but he hesitated and backed down with a jolt of fear as Chase dropped his arms limply to his sides, sending a vicious glare his way. "Are… are you alright?"

Upset further that not only was he crying in front of Gill, but he was _bawling_ like a pathetic baby, and now Gill sounded like he was trying to _comfort_ him – Chase got violent. He unsteadily moved towards him, off balance himself, and shoved Gill hard in the shoulders. The ice under their feet didn't need more force to plant Gill on his ass with a heavy thud.

Hand stinging from the impact of catching himself, Gill was sat stunned in a stupor for a moment. But he was almost immediately infuriated at being attacked – and he had nearly dropped the ratatouille! He was about to bark back at Chase's bite, but he stopped himself when he saw the chef's still sniveling face looking down at him wasn't so much livid as… vulnerable. The expression was so completely foreign – people never opened up to Gill, and no one had ever lost their cool in front of him. Definitely not to this caliber. He'd never seen someone so shamelessly fall apart like that. But… maybe it was a long time coming. Maybe Chase needed that more than Gill knew. The idea hit home.

"Don't think so hard! Don't…! Don't do that again!" Chase threatened, not coming across as menacing at all as he ran his sleeve across his nose. He ran the other one over his face as Gill picked himself up and brushed the slush from the back of his coat.

"Doubt you'll have to worry…" Gill muttered. He felt very uneasy around this person now. He couldn't look him in the eye. Which didn't seem to be a problem because Chase certainly wasn't making any efforts for polite, conversational eye contact. "Unless I draw your name again next year."

Chase snorted, his nose tinged pink from his tears and the cold. The air cleared somewhat. They stood there in the quiet for awhile, gaining their bearings. Gill wondered what constellation that was over the peninsula where Marimba Farm would be tucked away over the hill.

Finally, Chase spoke up. He sounded grim. Hands back in his pockets, and his eyes fixed on the clouds. "Why'd you do that? Seriously. You could've just… gotten whatever and called it good. Why this?"

Gill glowered at the crushed remains of the sheet music messily poking out of Chase's pocket. But it was a fair question. Why _didn't_ he just get the oven mitts? Because they were boring? It wasn't like he was going to tell Chase he kind of wanted to start over, make amends for never having crossed the gap in the past. Like _hell_ he'd ever say _anything_ like that to _anyone._ Instead, he directed the question back at him. "Well, why you? Why the ratatouille?"

"My gift was supposed to make me better, so I could gloat over it," Chase flatly explained. Gill rolled his eyes. It was a bad lie. Chase's face fell. "I guess…"

There was a silent understanding. That perhaps they were both coming from places of regret. They were a little sick of themselves, more so than they were sick of each other. Besides, it was Christmas. What better time to bury the hatchet?

Gill straightened his posture, professional but sincere. "Either way… thank you."

Chase let out a hot breath. He shrugged. "Yeah. You, too. I mean… thanks."

The mayor's son nodded stiffly, and Chase rubbed his nose again, the last traces of a shudder leaving his lungs. A nasty wind blew in from the sea, squeaking the rust off of the lantern behind them as it swayed on its hook.

"Well, I've had enough of this shit. I'm going home," Chase decided, turning on his heel and making a quick exit. He went towards the clinic, and Gill hesitated to follow him – his home just so happened to be that way, too, but he didn't want to be creepy, and he also didn't want to stay standing there loitering outside the Ocarina Inn like an idiot. Tough call.

"Hey! You…!" Gill called out, an idea striking him before he could think it through. He couldn't let him leave to go back to being a loner again. He'd take the risk. Chase stopped in the shadows, staring back. Gill couldn't see his face, but he could feel the annoyed, half-lidded stare. "You… should come by the music room sometime. Sundays. Candace would… er… _I…_ want to hear the rest of that song."

Chase mulled it over. He nodded. "Yeah… alright. Sounds cool. See ya 'round…?"

Gill held up his hand for a single wave. "Yeah."

The chef nearly made it to the corner before Gill called out to him again.

"Oh! This container! When should I get it back to you?" Gill cupped his hand to his mouth to help his voice carry over the distance.

Chase threw his hands up over his ears. "Are you still talking?! Shut the hell up already!"

Gill could feel his blood pressure rise as his rage thundered in his brain. Chase was still an ass. He couldn't forget that. Always an ass.

That probably wouldn't change either. Chase would always have something pointlessly rude to say, Gill would always nag over the details, and they'd both have impossibly short fuses. That's just how they would always be. But that didn't have to make them enemies or a lost cause. Meeting somewhere in the middle might even find an unforeseen strength.

As Gill finally felt comfortable enough with the distance to start the short walk home, there was a spark of change in his heart. A thorn had been taken out and replaced with relief. And maybe a potential friend. That is… willing if they could both keep their mouths shut.


End file.
